


The Misty Air of Freedom

by frith_in_thorns



Series: Free of Surface Ties [1]
Category: Fallen London | Echo Bazaar, White Collar
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fusion, Daring Escapes, Gen, New Newgate Prison
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-29
Updated: 2014-11-29
Packaged: 2018-02-27 09:03:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 774
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2687027
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/frith_in_thorns/pseuds/frith_in_thorns
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>How Neal arrived in Fallen London from the Surface, by way of New Newgate Prison.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Misty Air of Freedom

**Author's Note:**

> _The prison is carved into the body of an immense stalactite, clinging to the roof of the Bazaar's cavern. Escape-proof? We'll see about that._

New Newgate was superficially similar to gaols that Neal had seen the inside of before. His first cell had no windows and was lit by a quantity of smoky, greenish candles. His cellmate took one look at him and sniffed disapprovingly. "Fresh off the dirigible, are ye?"

"An hour ago," Neal told him. It was winter up top, but even so his skin had more of a tan than what was visible of this man's, around the edges of his black prisoner's mask and beneath the deep layer of dirt. 

"Well, don't think I'm impressed. _Surfacers_." He rolled over in his heap of rags, clutching a dirty bottle to his chest.

Neal inspected the rough, rust-coated iron bars over the doorway, and the damp, limy wall. Hewn out of a gigantic stalactite, the rumours had said, but he hadn't really believed them. 

He had time to sit, now. Time had been in short supply since he'd launched this desperate scheme without really stopping to think about it. This had seemed like the fastest, most unobtrusive way of getting down to the Neath, and his escape from New Newgate should already be in place.

Still, as the candles guttered low and he shivered in the damp chill, it didn't seem like such a good plan after all. Hooded, masked gaolers occasionally shuffled up and down the tunnel (he _wanted_ to call it a corridor), and eery noises occasionally spiralled from the distance. Once there was a piercing scream from the depths and a cry went up along the rows of cells: "The Snuffer! The Snuffer!"

Eventually, the cell door was pulled open with a great creak of rusty hinges, and a gaoler beckoned him. "Cell reassignment," he/she/they mumbled, and Neal stumbled out, his limbs stiff and hampered by the heavy iron manacles. 

The tunnel floor was worn smooth. Strange patterns ran through the rock walls, flickering oddly in the light. After endless twists and turns, Neal was shoved into a new cell and the door slammed and locked.

He was alone. But this time there was a window. He grinned fiercely as he looked out for the first time into the vast cavern, receiving a draught of salt air in his face. Down below there was a black expanse of sea — the Zee, he corrected himself —and also the bright lights of London's gaslamps.

He was out of the shackles in moments, and squeezing through the window. The unexpected breeze fanned his face as he clung to the slippery face of the stalactite, and a flock of bats wheeled past, chittering. If he fell from here… he had heard that death wasn't usually permanent in the Neath, but he had no desire to test that.

After all, someone had managed to murder Kate.

The dirigible hove into view, ropes and cloth creaking in the wind. (Where did the wind even come from, this far underground?) 

The thought of the drop made Neal's insides clench for a moment but he had done crazier things, probably, and he leapt, the wind in his ears almost sounding like speech as it whistled past. His hand closed around a rope and the skin of his palms ripped and tore, but he hung on grimly, sliding to a stop.

When he opened his eyes, London was spread out below him, streets twisted into a labyrinth. Black domes and spires rose from its heart. Staring at them made his eyes throb and lights dance in the corners of his eyes.

He knew all the stories, of course. Devils. Tigers. Men with faces like squid. The whisper-court of the Traitor Empress. He had laughed at them on the Surface, and determined to uncover the sources of the rumours. But swooping in from above, staring down at the city the Echo Bazaar had stolen, the stories suddenly seemed far less outlandish.

He took a chance when the dirigible glided low over the hill by the river, and jumped. Damp moss and mushrooms broke his fall, and by the time he rolled to a stop he was filthy and soaked. He spat out mud and mushroom bits as he sat up, leaping to his feet at the howl of something suspiciously wolf-like further off in the marsh.

The city limits weren't far, and the gaslamps glowed welcomingly as he squeezed between buildings, hopped over a railing, and finally stepped out onto the cobbles. A cat glared at him suspiciously as he began drawing up lists in his head.

Things he needed to acquire: better clothes, money, food, lodgings. 

Things he currently had on his side: skills, luck, prison rags. 

And an ambition.


End file.
